


Vague Ambition

by ZoeBug



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: All Your Faves Are Trans, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathroom Bills, Domestic, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Grantaire being dazzled forever and always by Enjolras, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Les Amis are a group of trans kids, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Multi, Neo-pronouns, Non-binary character, Other, Rebelling Against Transphobia, The Queers Win the Day!, Trans Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeBug/pseuds/ZoeBug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay, this is a terrible idea.”<br/>“This "terrible idea" was <em>yours</em> originally, you know.”<br/>“Exactly. When has any idea of mine been a good one?”<br/>“You were sober when you thought of it.”<br/>“Exactly! That’s even <em>worse</em>!”<br/> </p><p>Or: The one where everyone is trans and Enjolras and Grantaire "Queer Robin Hood" it up by using the recent transphobic bathroom bills to their advantage: steal from the <strike>rich</strike> bigoted,  give to the <strike>poor</strike> trans kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vague Ambition

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my good friend Riley who mentioned this would be a fantastic idea for a fic when we were joking about it on Trans Day of Visibility and who adores E/R so how could I not?
> 
> Riley, you have been a _fantastic_ president of our trans group this past year and are a big part of the reason the community here is so accepting and friendly and safe. Honestly, you are a phenomenal person that I'm lucky to call my friend and thank you for giving me an excuse to write this super self-indulgent fic because #AllYourFavesAreTrans sorry not sorry.
> 
> Another thing I don't apologize for: Hamilton references. Hope y'all enjoy.  
> (You're also responsible for me integrating "y'all" into my vocab, Riley, that's your influence.)

_“Are you capable of being good for something?”_

_“I have the vague ambition to be,” said Grantaire._

_"You don't believe in anything."_

_"I believe in you."_

* * *

 

“ _Grantaire_!”

At the sound of his name being called from the other room, Grantaire reluctantly cracked open one eye.

Blinking dazedly a few times, he peered around at his dark room finding it still and silent. He waited for a few seconds, letting his eyes drift shut again when he heard nothing but quiet footsteps from elsewhere in the apartment. So he grumbled to himself and buried his face back into the pillow, content to just fall back asleep.

“Grantaire! Wake up, I’ve got news.”

The yellow light that burst behind his closed eyelids told him someone had flicked on his light. And the accompanying voice exclaiming his name _entirely_ too loudly told him that ‘someone’ was Enjolras.

"You need to look at this!”

Grantaire turned his head, squinting to make out Enjolras through his blurry vision. They were making their way across the room, laptop balanced in one hand and a mug in the other of what Grantaire assumed was coffee from the way the steam rose from its brim and the redness around Enjolras’s eyes.

“What time is it?” Grantaire grumbled sleepily as Enjolras slid onto the bed beside Grantaire, one leg still hanging off the mattress and the other folded, their eyes never once leaving the screen they'd set down on the covers before them.

Grantaire squinted against the brightness, his eyes still foggy and blurred from sleep.

“Eight AM,” Enjolras muttered distractedly, taking a sip of their coffee and scrolling down a page. “You need to see this.”

“Sorry, office opens at eleven.” Grantaire rolled back over, tugging the covers up over himself once more. “Come back later.”

“This is _important_ , Grantaire,” Enjolras persisted and Grantaire felt them shake his shoulder. He groaned.

“It always is,” he muttered to himself, craning his head over his shoulder to blink blearily at his partner once more. “Enjolras. How long have you been up?”

Enjolras, of course, already had their attention back on their laptop. They paused for a moment to look up and sideways, considering.

“Seven,” they replied.

“AM?”

Enjolras sipped from their mug, nodding nonchalantly before adding.

“Yesterday.”

Grantaire groaned.

“Enjolras, how many times do I need to tell you: you need your sleep?”

Enjolras just waved a dismissive hand at Grantaire.

“I’ll sleep when we live in a free and equal society when _this_ bullshit-” they turned the laptop towards Grantaire and made a gesture that fell somewhere between _ta-da_ and _fight me, motherfucker_ , “isn’t sanctioned by our legal system.”

Grantaire sat up a little and squinted at the news article on the screen―entirely too bright for his newly-opened eyes.

“‘North Carolina Governor Signs Controversial Transgender Bathroom Bill,’” Grantaire read, furrowing his brow. He glanced up at Enjolras.

Their lips were pressed thinly and a muscle in their jaw flexed.

“Keep reading.”

So Grantaire did.

“‘House Bill 2, the Public Facilities Privacy & Security Act, puts in place a statewide policy that bans individuals from using public bathrooms that do not correspond to their biological sex.’ What the _fuck_?” Grantaire gawked at the screen. “This can’t be real.”

“Trust me, it’s real.” Enjolras turned the laptop back towards themself in a jerk with, perhaps, a bit too much force behind it.

“What the actual shit?” Grantaire flopped back against the covers and groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes.

After a moment, Enjolras sighed angrily.

“Now, I know I get a little caught up in work sometimes-” Enjolras started but paused to turn and glare at Grantaire when he snorted loudly, peeking out from under his arm.

“A little?”

Enjolras cleared their throat pointedly and Grantaire grinned.

“Go on, _mon soleil,_ ” Grantaire drawled.

“ _But-_ ” Enjolras continued, “I was under the impression that it was currently 2016.”

“Last time I checked,” Grantaire agreed.

“Hmm, strange. Because it almost seems as if most of the country-” the bed dipped as Enjolras stood up from it, gesturing wildly with their arms, their mug of coffee nearly sloshing over the rim, “-thinks it is nineteenth century!”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said flatly. “It sucks, yes. It’s bullshit, yes. But you don’t need to wallpaper my room with coffee every time people are transphobic assholes.”

“Well, obviously,” Enjolras replied heatedly, “or your room would be a coffee swimming pool!” Grantaire snorted tiredly before nodding in reluctant agreement.

“But you should sleep,” Grantaire suggested. “So I can sleep.”

“I’m too angry to sleep.”

“Look, your Queer Rage meter is up to here,” Grantaire raised his hand up over his head as high as it would reach and flattened it horizontally to indicate. “And you need to bring it down to here.” He lowered his hand to about eye-level. “It’s not healthy.”

“Do you not understand how awful this is?” Enjolras gestured passionately again and Grantaire watched the coffee mug with a distant sort of anxiety. There was that flicker in Enjolras’s eyes again, the soft, burning ember glowing to life when they got going. And when Grantaire was fully awake and less than fully sober, that fire _did things_ to him.

But currently, Grantaire could feel exhaustion pulling at his every muscle and he just wanted to deal with this all later.

“Enj, I _do_. But I am _tired_ and we’ve got a meeting tonight to talk about it with everyone,” Grantaire reminded them. “At six PM. When I am functional.”

Enjolras let out a heated huff through their nose before closing their eyes and letting their shoulders relax.

“You’re right.” Their mouth twisted into a concentrated scowl, closing their laptop still resting on the covers. “I have a lot of work to do before tonight. I’m… sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Grantaire mumbled, a grin tugging at his lips. “Just come cuddle with me for a bit.”

“‘Taire…” Enjolras started.

“I know, I know. Work, work, work.” Grantaire yawned through the words. “Listen, you can fight back using your style in a bit. But just for a few minutes, can we do it my way?”

“You have a way?” Enjolras asked, eyebrows raising as they put a hand on their hip. "I wasn't aware you fought back at all."

“Mhm,” Grantaire muttered sleepily, already letting his eyes drift shut. His hand was still extended outwards, beckoning Enjolras.

He heard Enjolras laugh softly before feeling the bed dip beside him as they climbed back on. Grantaire hummed happily when he felt a kiss pressed to the tip of his nose.

“All right, you’ve convinced me,” Enjolras said softly, sliding in next to him. “Always interested to learn about new forms of activism. So what’s this way of yours?”

Enjolras was warm when they settled their back against his chest and their hair smelled like coffee and home and skin in sunlight when Grantaire settled his face into the crook between Enjolras’s neck and shoulder.

“Workin’ on bein’ happy and okay,” Grantaire whispered, placing a light kiss behind Enjolras’s ear and squeezing his arm around them. “Slowly, but surely. Best revenge I’ve found.”

 

 

 

 

“Okay, this is a terrible idea.”

“This "terrible idea" was _yours_ originally, you know.”

“Exactly. When has any idea of mine been a good one?”

“You _were_ sober when you thought of it.”

“Exactly! That’s even _worse_!”

Grantaire groaned into his coffee, fingers fidgeting against the little paper holder around the middle.

He wouldn't exactly be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the taste of coffee objectively. Bitter during and sourly-tangy afterwards, it wasn't a habit Grantaire really picked up like most people during his college days. Booze, however, was another story.

Until he'd met Enjolras, that was.

Because Enjolras seemed to sometimes subsist solely off the stuff and the first time Grantaire had kissed Enjolras, his heart fluttering like a terrified bird against the cage of his ribs, Enjolras had tasted like coffee and the way dawn felt and he'd decided maybe coffee wasn't so terrible after all.

And if Enjolras was slowly training him in an almost Pavlovian-like way to lean towards coffee when the urges to re-discover the bottom of a bottle of something strong and golden-brown reared their heads, then... Well, admittedly, maybe "objective" wasn't how Grantaire thought about coffee most of the time.

“I hate being in this part of town. The amount of straight white conservatives is making my skin crawl.” Peering over the lid of his drink as he took a sip, Grantaire eyed an old greying couple walking by, shopping bags in hand. “Have I ever explained how much cis people suck sometimes?”

Enjolras let out an amused huff.

“Many a time, _chèr_.”

“Shut up.”

“Anyway, stop dissing cis people for a second, would you? I have to get into character,” Enjolras chastised, but he could hear in their voice the way they were fighting against a smile as Grantaire took another sip of coffee and glanced around. “I have important undercover work to do soon.”

“Reason number eighty seven this plan will never work: you have to pretend to be a straight cis person for more than two minutes.” Grantaire murmured the words glumly into his coffee but having Enjolras there, luminous and determined and fierce as the sun was bright―as always―calmed him.

Enjolras sighed with barely-exaggerated resignation.

“I must do my duty in the name of justice, Grantaire. I’m sure I can manage to convince these fine people-” they swept their hand around at the milling shop-goers―a sea of white gender-conforming clothing and natural hair-colored beige―before continuing, “-that I, too, am a fellow heterosexual.”

Grantaire snorted, rolling his eyes as he thumbed the tab of his coffee cup’s lid. Enjolras’s expression softened out of the corner of Grantaire’s eyes at the sound and they placed a warm, solid hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“This is going to be fantastic when we pull it off, Grantaire. Just wait. Don’t you trust me?”

Grantaire turned to face Enjolras for the first time since they’d migrated to their place against the side wall, and studied their face openly for a moment.

He thought back to the meeting that had started this whole ridiculous escapade, at the Cafe Musain downtown with their friends.

 

 

 

 

Fully awake this time and without the heaviness of exhaustion filling his consciousness, Grantaire had room in him Enjolras to transfer the glowing embers of their own passionate anger and fan them in Grantaire's gut by reading the entirety of three articles off their phone as they walked to the Cafe.

Enjolras flung the door open with their eyes forward, blazing like some kind of vengeful angel filled with righteous fury. The strands of hair that had escaped their low ponytail whipped about their face in the shifting air and Grantaire was caught between rolling his eyes at how overly dramatic Enjolras looked and kind of wanting to kiss them.

“Oh, looks like we’re to be getting started right off the bat, are we?” Bahorel’s warm, friendly, and, albeit, loud voice greeted them first.

The Cafe was relatively empty aside from the small group of people gathered around a table to the right of the door by the counter―a mass of flannel and skinny jeans and short, colorfully dyed hair. Grantaire couldn’t help but feeling something loosen in his chest at the sight.

“Evening,” Grantaire greeted, pulling up a chair outside the main ring of assembled people, putting his feet up and sighing as he put his hands behind his head against the wall.

“Obviously, we’ll be getting started right away.” Enjolras’s voice was hard as they placed both hands firmly on the tabletop before them, leaning on it as if in emphasis. Grantaire could see the muscle in their jaw flex as they unconsciously clenched their teeth.

“Even before saying hello to Cosette and Marius?” Feuilly inquired, smiling. They glided out from behind the counter, the small pocketed apron of wait-staff around their waist. “They’re in the back right now.”

Grantaire huffed a small laugh. Marius was the co-owner of the Cafe Musain and, while a very nice and all-around decent person, did give off the feeling that he was a bit confused as to what was going on around him at any given moment. Although, to be fair, Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure if that was just his natural state of being or if it was that he mostly only saw Marius when he suddenly became the only cisgendered person in the room and hadn’t quite figured out how to navigate it yet.

His wife, Cosette, with whom he co-owned the cafe, had come to a few of the group’s meetings where it had previously been held at the public library, before offering up her Cafe as a meeting place.

“ _I don’t get to spend enough time around other trans people. And besides,_ ” she had quipped when they’d asked if she was sure it was all right, “ _this way I don’t have to go anywhere. I can come to meetings in my pajamas if I want._ ”

They always met at the Cafe Musain on Wednesday evenings, their group discussing current news, venting about the transphobic things they’d had to put up with, or just hanging out and chatting.

“Yeah, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac teased. “It would be rude not to greet the mistress of the house.”

Enjolras closed their eyes for a moment, as if calming themself.

“I’ll say hello whenever she’s free,” they said slowly with eyes still closed. "But we have business to discuss."

Feuilly just grinned, pushing their deep-blue hair out of their eyes, resting the serving tray they were holding against their hip. Feuilly had lived with Marius and Cosette in their spare bedroom after being kicked out of their parent's house, working at the Cafe for them to help pay for rent.

Feuilly smiled a lot more nowadays than when Grantaire had first met them, that was for sure.

“You mean the absolutely disgusting bills I saw you spend the entirety of the day writing dissertation-length opposition comments to on Facebook?” Combeferre inquired, raising their eyebrows.

Grantaire was seriously worried for Enjolras’s teeth, considering the way he thought he could almost hear them grinding from where he sat.

“Yes,” Enjolras ground out haltingly. “ _Those bills_.”

Enjolras launched almost immediately into their analysis of the situation and the bills as Feuilly brought them all the coffees and teas they'd asked for. They plopped down nearby afterwards to listen when Combeferre began to inquire about specific points of Enjolras’s speech.

Somewhere between Courfeyrac jumping in to back up a point Bahorel had made and Joly detailing various health hazards associated with the amount of “holding it” that would no doubt occur because of the bills, Grantaire sort of zoned out.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about it. Well, sort of.

He cared in regards to the fact that, as a trans guy, using public bathrooms was already a relatively precarious business without all this added bullshit. It was just hard for him to follow the winding and multi-clause complex sentences in which Enjolras and many of the others began speaking during discussions like this.

And so Grantaire, instead, simply opted to sip his drink and zone out to the chatter of his friends.

"-ntaire, don’t you think?”

Grantaire blinked, bringing his eyes back into focus at the sound of his name. His vision landed on Jehan, blinking owlishly from beside him, an inquisitive look on eir face. Grantaire shook his head to clear the fog.

“Sorry, what, Jehan?”

Jehan quirked half a smile at his lack of attention.

“I asked: Isn’t it ridiculous that they put of this kind of… reward money up for this awful bill when there are so many causes that need and deserve funding so much more?” Eir voice was soft when ey spoke and it seemed like none of the rest of the group was really listening (or could hear em over the louder, more assertive group members).

It seemed Jehan had defaulted into eir habit of simply voicing thoughts that came eir way during discussions to the person of nearest proximity and hoping it would be transmitted to the larger circle if ey could make enough of an impact there.

Grantaire nodded and sighed.

“Yep.” He popped the p on his lips. “Like me. I am definitely a cause more deserving of that money.”

“Mhm, yeah let’s just do that," Jehan agreed sarcastically, grinning. "March into the capital building and convince the white cis conservatives to give over the money to a group of-” ey broke off to wiggle eir fingers, eyebrows waggling “-gender deviants intent on corrupting their children.”

In hindsight, Grantaire figured it was probably pretty comical the way he stopped mid-laugh, sitting up with eyes wide like someone had just shocked him, before starting to laugh even louder.

“Grantaire?” Jehan inquired, concerned.

“You okay, dude?” Courfeyrac asked, having cut xer sentence off halfway through when Grantaire had shot up in his seat.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m fine,” Grantaire managed, trying to contain his snorting. “I just thought how hilarious it would be if one of us got turned in, but like… by somebody else trans. And then we just kept the fuckin’ reward money.”

Grantaire devolved into another round of―objectively, he admitted―rather embarrassing snorting laughs as he imagined a serious, straight-faced Enjolras leading Grantaire by the arm to some grave-looking policeman with their other hand out and declaring: “ _I found this person in the men’s bathroom!_ ” as the policeman placed a stack of cash in Enjolras’s outstretched hand.

But the silence around him broke through Grantaire’s hilarious internal movie and he looked up to the group of people seated around the table. They weren’t looking at him anymore.

They were all looking at Enjolras.

Who was, in turn, looking at Grantaire with that fierce, scorching gaze like the shine off melted gold and Grantaire didn’t know whether to be scared or whether or cross his legs.

“Yu-oh, R,” Feuilly said, smile clear in their voice, “I think you gave them an idea.”

Enjolras’s fierce expression simply broke into a grin.

Grantaire tried to roll his eyes but, in the end, only managed a thick gulp and a wary, slightly terrified raise of his eyebrows.

 

 

 

“Grantaire?” The voice was soft, as were the eyes staring into his when he came back to himself, leaning against the wall of the shopping center with Enjolras smiling―soft as well―and their hand solid and warm and grounding on his shoulder. “Grantaire, trust me.”

“I do,” Grantaire replied.

And the tone with which it escaped his lips was far too serious, too heavy, too full of things beyond the words carried in it to really fit the context of the words that had prompted them.

But Grantaire couldn’t find it in himself be embarrassed in that moment about the sudden surging of emotion and loyalty for the person standing before him, so passionate and determined and _brave_. Because Grantaire was none of those things but _God above_ , he would follow Enjolras to the ends of the earth and into Hell itself with only the slightest tugging on his wrist and those words: “ _Grantaire, trust me_ ” as encouragement.

Enjolras’s smile widened and―damn, it was becoming an increasingly regular occurrence that Enjolras tore him between two opposing instincts and left stuck him there in the middle―Grantaire wanted to simultaneously cup their cheeks between his hands and recoil from their immediate space as to not somehow smudge Enjolras’s glow.

“You have that look on your face again,” was all Enjolras said, corner of their mouth pulling up the slightest bit. Using the moment of confusion on Grantaire’s part, Enjolras plucked his cup of coffee from his fingers and took a sip, blanching slightly.

“What look?” Grantaire muttered.

“You always put so much sugar in your coffee,” Enjolras murmured, ignoring Grantaire and staring down at the cup as if it had irritated them.

“What look, Enj?” Grantaire repeated, not truly in a foul mood but this prodding of Enjolras’s against his sullen demeanor felt comfortable. Normal. Like the smell of the sheets back home and the reasons he’d started drinking coffee and he just wanted to lean into it and never let go.

Enjolras just hummed noncommittally and took another sip from Grantaire’s cup, lightly wincing again.

Grantaire tugged the paper cup from their hands.

“If you don’t like the way I take my coffee, stop drinking it already,” Grantaire retorted.

Enjolras just smiled the slightest bit, glancing around them again, before meeting Grantaire’s gaze again and raising their eyebrows at him with that entrancing mixture of anticipation and determined fire.

“You ready?”

Grantaire’s breath caught the smallest bit at the sight.

“Only if you are,” he replied.

 

 

 

 

“We are absolutely _not_ keeping it, Bahorel.”

“What?” Bahorel exclaimed, just a hint of a whine coloring the word. “Enjolras, think of how much fun we could have with this!”

“Yeah, cause you’re the best person to be giving financial advice, Bahorel, with your heaps of student loan debt and no intentions of making something out of it,” Combeferre replied coolly, sipping their steaming cup of tea.

Bahorel pressed a hand to his chest in mock indignation.

“Combeferre. I’m _wounded,_ ” Bahorel replied in an overly-exaggerated whisper. “Just because you’re _literally_ a living meme at the moment doesn’t mean-”

But no one got to hear what it didn’t mean because it seemed Joly had inhaled half a lung-full of tea and proceed to hack and cough through gasping laughs.

Once Joly had begun to breathe normally again and everyone had all settled down, Enjolras was crossing their arms and watching as Feuilly held the check up to the soft lights of the Cafe overhead, examining it.

“I still can’t believe you two managed to pull it off,” Courfeyrac laughed, still rubbing slow circle’s on Joly’s back.

“We’re giving the money to a good cause,” Enjolras said, the words ringing with finality with their emphasis.

“Do _I_ count as a good cause?” Grantaire asked in a lazy drawl. Enjolras just shot him a look and Grantaire grinned lopsidedly back at them.

“I think it’s the right thing, giving it to an organization,” Jehan pipped up. Feuilly nodded before handing the slip of paper back to Enjolras.

“Yeah, things like True Colors really helped me so much when I didn’t have a place to stay.” Their words were light and casual, but Feuilly didn’t often talk about their six months of homelessness and shelter stays. “Dunno if I'd be here now if not for stuff like that."

Bahorel exhaled in a way that came out as half a laugh and half a sigh.

“Sounds good to me.” He shrugged. “We can party with all them baby queers once they get settled.”

Enjolras’s hard expression had softened at Feuilly and Bahorel's words, although their arms were still folded across their chest.

“Or maybe Cosette should just adopt ‘em all,” Courfeyrac interjected, snorting through xer words. “She’d be the new Eliza Schuyler-Hamilton, except with little trans kids.”

“Did someone say Eliza Schuyler?!” From the back room, Cosette’s voice exclaimed, loud and excited. She rounded the door frame leading into the back of the Cafe.

Two or three of those gathered around the table snickered. Feuilly jumped up from their seat around the wobbly circle when Cosette appeared behind the counter, regardless of the fact that there was no one in the Cafe besides the group that needed attend and that Cosette―and Marius too for that matter―were the most laid back employers to be found, especially when it came to Feuilly.

Cosette colored a bit at the looks on their faces and their badly concealed laughter. She shook herself out a bit and stood straighter, jaw set.

“I am Hamilton trash and I've never tried to deny it,” she remarked, jutting her chin out as if daring anyone to say anything. But then she caught sight of the check in Enjolras’s hand and all indignation disappeared from her face as she rounded the counter to stride over to them excitedly. Her eyes widened, face suddenly full of delight. “Is that it?”

Enjolras nodded, their eyes seeming to flick almost unbidden to Grantaire where he reclined across the table from them, before focusing back on Cosette.

“It absolutely is.”

And Grantaire noted, in a moment of sudden realization, that Enjolras looked… proud.

And for a just moment the swirling press of his bank account balance and their small shared apartment and the pitiful amount in his top surgery fund seemed to recede in the wake of that brief transformation in Enjolras’s face at the moment their eyes had landed on Grantaire.

It all seemed to matter so much less right now, all Grantaire's personal reasoning, in this moment with Enjolras’s fingers sliding over the slip of paper as if it were a goddamn Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory of Social Justice or something. This moment with their eyes returning to Grantaire like _he_ was the one who had given them that lucky chocolate bar. Likehe was their plus one on the factory tour and the golden ticket and the chocolate bar all rolled into one and Grantaire suddenly didn’t give a damn about any of the lurking problems he knew would wash back over him like a rising tide at any moment.

Because here was Enjolras, with whom he would be going home to sleep in the same bed tonight, whose soft sounds he would wake to pattering around their shared home busy with ideas and passions, whom he would kiss tomorrow in the early afternoon and taste coffee like the break of dawn on their tongue, and who was… proud of him. _Proud_ of how he had helped Enjolras help so many others.

And, sure, Grantaire may be a selfish, awful, sorry excuse for a person, but Enjolras? Enjolras was not. And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it was enough, Grantaire thought for a fleeting moment, to be close enough to Enjolras that their overflowing passion would spill over and pool about his feet, would buoy him up in its rising tide and make him just a fraction better.

Grantaire let out a slow breath, watching the way Cosette tittered in joy over the check and hugged Feuilly in celebration and clapped her hands together excitedly declaring something about coffee on the house, smiling to himself.

_"Workin’ on bein’ happy and okay. Slowly, but surely. Best revenge I've found."_

Yeah, Grantaire thought, taking a sip of his coffee and tasting it―bitter and sweet and warm all at once―as his eyes met Enjolras's again from across the table.

Yeah. Maybe that was enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated!  
>   
> [fanfic/podfic blog](http://zoe-bug.tumblr.com/) | [personal](http://xiexiecaptain.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/xiexiecaptain)


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